A few weeks ago, at The Mordo and Sexy Nomad’s awesomiffic Halloween Party, I had my palm read by Cheska. It was all going kind of nice and well, until she got to the obligatory “your life will be a total mess courtesy of some divine intervention but this sort of intervention is probably done by Satan, because you’ll get fucked up REAAAAL bad it’s unbelievable” part. So the conversation went a little something like this:

Cheska: Show me your palm so I can read– HOLYFUCKINGSHIT.

Me: What?

Cheska: OH LORD THIS IS HORRIBLE.

Me: What? What do you see? WHAT DO YOU SEE, WOMAN?

Cheska: I THINK I’M GONNA FAINT–

Me: WILL I DIE IN A CAR CRASH? WILL I GET HORRIBLY DISFIGURED IN A FREAK ACCIDENT? WILL MY PENIS GET CUT OFF BY AN EVIL SCHEMING WIFE? WILL SHE SELL MY PENIS ON EBAY? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?!?!?!111one

Cheska: I chipped a nail! And I just had a manicure! OH NOES!

Me: Wait, what?

Cheska: So, yeah. Horrible.

Me: Whew. I thought you were seeing some dark horrible fate that will befall me–

Cheska: Also, you’ll go nowhere in your current job. You’ll quit and look for greener pastures, but you just don’t have any skills whatsoever, marketable, practical or sexual. Your college classmates will get filthy rich, hobnobbing with stars such as Kristine Hermosa, Angel Locsin and Dominic Ochoa. And you’ll blow your life savings on your blog and you’ll end up sucking dicks along Quiapo just to pay for hosting fees. You’ll also live in a cardboard box for ten years, and spend seven of it without taking a bath. And also, your wife will dump you for some hot dreamy Russian guy named Vladimir who runs a vodka company. And I wouldn’t mind doing him myself. Also, your wife’s named “Amelhia Phamela” but her real name is “Juanitho Rhodolfo”. Well, at least that was her name before the sex change. By the way, you’ll die in your sleep–

So yeah, that was a very optimistic outlook for the rest of my life. Now, I don’t necessarily believe in fortune tellers and any other sort of sorcery like that (unlike this fairy midget), but then hearing things like that are, well, in a word, depressing. Well, imagine being told about these stupid turns your life will take. It’s not exactly the happiest thing to hear. It’s not the fortune teller’s fault, but still, they make you realize stuff.

Stuff like: MY LIFE = EPIC FAIL.

If I had a choice, all subsequent fortune tellers who will attempt to forsee my future should first look and dress like this:

Fortune Tellers: Hot.

Also, all aforementioned fortune-telling activities should be held in a small, dimly-lit room, with candles, incense, champagne, a bathtub filled with aromatic bath gels, a queen-sized water bed, and a handkerchief drenched with chloroform (just in case).

Also, a typical palm reading session should go about like this:

Fortune Teller: Can you please give your hand to me?

Me: Sure.

Fortune Teller: Holy shit.

Me: What is it, my lovely fortune teller?

Fortune Teller: You have like the hottest hands ever.

Me: Why thank you. Your hands do not lack any sort of hotness too, my dear. And the same goes for the rest of you.

Fortune Teller: *giggles & blushes*

Me: Have some wine.

Fortune Teller: Oh, thank you. (drinks wine in one gulp, in a very unlady-like manner)

Me: So, what do the lines on my palm tell about my future?

Fortune Teller: Good fortune awaits you, my good man. You’ll travel to various places like France, London, San Francisco, Somalia, Zanzibar, Alaska… and you’ll have homes in each and every one of those places. Also, this blog of yours will strike gold and make you famous!

Me: Wow. You’re not kidding me, are you?

Fortune Teller: I kid not. It also says here that you’ll make it big and earn billions of pesos and you’ll end up as one of the richest men in the Philippines in five years’ time!

Me: No way.

Fortune Teller: Afterwards, you’ll take five years traveling and meditating in India, where you’ll discover fire, be enlightened, and become a guru. Then you’ll write a best-seller named “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People — In Yoga!”. Also, you’ll be as thin as Gandhi. And you’ll also change your name to “Mohandas”. Then you’ll become a big Bollywood star.

Me: Okaaaaaay.

Fortune Teller: And when you’re finished with your obsession with Indians, meditation, yoga, and self-help, you’ll migrate to New York, where you’d make enough capital to launch Microsoft. Then you’d invent necessities such as the vaccum cleaner and the iPod. And when you get bored with all the money you will earn, you’ll hide away in a secluded log cabin and invent the internet!

Me: Holy shit… really?

Fortune Teller: OH MY GOD YOU ARE SUCH AN AWESOME! Father my children!!11

Me: Why, my dear, I actually have no problem with that. If you want to, we can get married, like, say, NOW.

Fortune Teller: WHY YES! YES!

Me: Great. Let’s look for a priest so we can share the rest of our lives in matrimonial bliss!

Fortune Teller: Also, I have something else to tell you.

Me: What is it, love?

Fortune Teller: My real name. it- it’s… Juanitho Rhodolfo.

Me: … Fuck.

So, have you been to a fortune teller lately? Do you believe what they say, or are you just in it for the laughs?